


You Can See Him Too?

by sebthealienn (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, M/M, Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 14:13:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13928757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/sebthealienn
Summary: Post-Reichenbach.Sherlock comes back. John is fine.





	You Can See Him Too?

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya! I got the inspiration for this from a Tumblr post (don't remember much, oops), and I enjoyed writing it a whole lot! Might be Johnlock if you squint!
> 
> Not edited, so all mistakes are mine and mine alone!

For some reason, when Sherlock showed up at the flat, all dark and gloomy and somber, John wasn't freaked out or anything. At first he didn't want to believe it, because, of course, less than a week ago the man had been lying on the ground, bleeding from the back of his head, and he had been quite dead, but it surprisingly didn't take long for John to get used to him being around.

It was just like the old days, sitting around in the flat, typing up his blog while Sherlock bustled around in the kitchen, doing some kind of experiment involving human body parts. John didn't bother scolding him, because he knew Sherlock wouldn't listen anyway. He left during the day, getting up before John and leaving silently, staying out for varying periods of time. Sometimes he would be out for only a few hours, and sometimes he didn't come back for as long as two or three days. But, he did eventually come back. John was glad for that.

They didn't talk. John didn't think there was anything to say. Sherlock would just walk around the flat, sometimes acting like John wasn't there, other times just sitting there and looking like he was about to say something, but John always stopped him with just a look. He couldn't bear to hear his voice.

Occasionally Sherlock seemed almost... transparent. Like he wasn't there. Almost like he was only a hologram. A vision. Like he was in John's head. John didn't want to think about it, no matter how much he thought it was true.

He felt comfort when he was around Sherlock, just sitting together, not speaking. It seemed like silence was what both of them needed in those moments, because John was sure both of them knew the other so well they didn't even need to communicate. 

He didn't talk to others about Sherlock, either. Lestrade and Molly and Mrs. Hudson came up to the flat when Sherlock was out and about and tried to talk to him, acting terribly suspicious, but John never felt like actually interacting with them. Recently he hadn't felt much at all. But, all this time, he had never seen any of them interact with Sherlock himself. Knowing them, they didn't want to. Sherlock had that effect on people, after all.

It had been around a week after Sherlock first showed up at the flat, and that was when they began talking. It wasn't much of a conversation, really, it was mostly just a few exchanged words that didn't mean much. Sherlock would ask him opinions on a case, and John would make him tea and ask him if he wanted biscuits with that, and that was it. It didn't seem like they needed anything more than that.

Ella told him to try running laps around the block during one therapy session, and John thought that was a splendid idea. Sherlock went with him. They spoke little, as always, when they ran. John set the pace, one day running faster, another running slower, depending on his mood that day. Sherlock always kept up, staying by his side. 

They ran every day, no matter the weather. It wasn't surprising that people occasionally gave them strange looks, seeing two men, one in running pants and a worn jumper, the other with a long black overcoat and wild curls, both soaking wet as they made their way down the block. The weather didn't bother John, and apparently it didn't bother Sherlock either, because he never complained.

Mrs. Hudson was incredible, as always, bringing biscuits, tea, and other goodies up in the mornings. She stayed for a couple minutes, asking stupid questions and giving John strange glances, as if she was worried about him. Honestly, John would've been worried about himself too.

Coincidentally, Mrs. Hudson always came up when Sherlock wasn't in the area, either out somewhere or up in his room, doing God knows what. She never asked about him, and John was surprised she never yelled at him for the thumbs in the freezer or the dangerous, toxic chemicals scattered on the kitchen table. All she did was look over them and give him an understanding nod.

Then one day she came up and Sherlock was in the kitchen. He didn't look up at her when she walked in, instead keeping his eyes on the microscope. She lay down a tray of pastries on the table, pouring a cup of tea for John. "Thank you," he murmured, putting his laptop to the side and taking a long sip, expecting her to smile at him and leave, like he was used to her doing.

"Sherlock, dear, have some too!"

John blinked, looking up to see Mrs. Hudson, staring straight at Sherlock, holding out a cup of tea. He took it, barely glancing at her before he got back to work.

"Hold on," John choked out, feeling two pairs of eyes on him. He stood up, shaking a little as his eyes flicked from the microscope, to Sherlock's blank face, and finally landing on Mrs. Hudson. She looked blurred, through the tears in his eyes. "You can see him too?"


End file.
